2001-07-18 - 5:49 p.m.

A week. Man, I didn't think I'd been absent for a week. A few days it felt like, "no worries mate, just been down to see about the cat, she'll be fine" except that the cat's pretty damn hungry after a week, isn't she? But I'm back.

And speaking of cats, I have to get rid of mine. This is a bad thing, because I rather like this cat, and want to keep her. But, my family is moving into a 'no-pet' apartment, and there's little legal wriggle-room there for small balls of fuzz. Fortunately, I should be able to reclaim this cat in a month, when I find my own pet-friendly apartment. So there. Seriously, it will be wierd not having her for a month: she's grown so much in the last 2 already that I may not be able to recognize this erst-while kitten by the time I see her again. She may not remember me. Odd.

Aside from all this, there is more news. I had been in another funk (it's getting pretty damn familiar, being there, like a bar that knows your favorite drink) because I had just done an audition for a full-length play. An honest-to-God play, involving possible money, which would have been spectacular. More than that, I did a call-back. Things were looking good, and once again the shining sun of hope was warming my fields, if you catch my meaning. And then came the week. Last week, actually. And no call. Nothing. I had poured out my little artistic soul for those ingrates, who obviously couldn't recognize talent if it played Rakhmaninoff's 3rd for them. Life was bleak, don'tcha know?

So on Monday, I'm driving around, trying to locate a FED-EX station (long story, don't ask), lost in the bowels of Ft. Lauderdale, when I get a call on my cell (Yes, I have one. much to my chagrin). It was the artistic director for New Theatre, a fairly prestigious theater around here, which has won many awards for being good, as opposed to terrible like so many theaters around here. The director for the failed call-back had aparently faxed him my picture and resume, and he wanted me to read for a part. And in that moment, I had a realization: The Mother-Fucking System Worked. (please imagine the ground shaking here). I don't think I ever really believed that it did, or would, at least for me. I was pretty much convinced that acting wasn't really right for me, I'd give it another 6 months, then get a real job, blahblahblah. This, however, was a stumper. In 2 minutes, my faith in several things was entirely renewed: my talent, acting in general, a benevolent and artistic God, and especially the lovely director who auditioned me for the call-back, and who is obviuously a connoisseur of talent and cute to boot. So I'm much relieved.

But it does make me ask myself: why did I expect me to fail? I don't know. Maybe I'm just being neurotic (hardly a ridiculous suggestion), but maybe success scares me. It's really not familiar to me. I expected my thesis to be terrible too, when I was finishing college. When it wasn't I was actually really shocked. I have succeeded at things before, but I've always been convinced that failure was waiting for me on the other side of the fence, licking its chops at such tasty meat.

So to sum up, I'm giving away a cat, and sizing up a dog.

�

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